


A Day in the Life

by voiceless_terror



Series: Prompt Fills [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Multi, One Shots that Were Too Small to Post Alone, prompts from tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26448028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voiceless_terror/pseuds/voiceless_terror
Summary: One-shots for the Magnus Archives, mostly prompts from tumblr.Chapter Five: Tim finds a Ouija board and the spirits want Jon and Martin to kiss.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Sasha James/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Series: Prompt Fills [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921006
Comments: 42
Kudos: 198





	1. Good Morning

**Author's Note:**

> This is from an anon prompt on tumblr: Prompt 26 from Physical Affection: Touching Feet and Immediately Screaming and Recoiling. I’m so glad you prompted this lmao, especially with Jon and Tim. Can be read as either Jon/Tim or platonic, whichever you prefer. This takes place pre-canon. So here you go, hope you enjoy!

Tim and Jon wind up in bed together. Somehow, this ends in a bloody nose. 

Sunlight filtered in through the curtains of Tim’s bedroom, its hazy rays warming his skin as he turned away from the window. They’d all gone out for a drink last night after a long day spent researching; Sasha had gone home at a reasonable hour, but he had convinced Jon to stay for a few more rounds. It wasn’t particularly hard as the man couldn’t hold a glass of wine to save his life. They stumbled home at some ungodly hour and collapsed into bed. Tim vaguely recalled some singing involved.

His head had the tell-tale ache of too much liquor too fast as he rubbed his face back into the pillow. He felt the minute shifting of a body next to his; Jon must have stirred at some point. 

“Go back t’sleep,” he mumbled, moving to wrap his arms around the man and trap him in the bed. But Jon’s shoulders felt weirdly knobby and not-right, and when he nuzzled his face into the back of Jon’s hair it felt weird and woolly and poke-y. Tim blinked his eyes open in confusion.

It was in fact not Jon’s hair at all. It was thick, woolen socks. Socks that were on feet. Feet that Tim currently had his face smashed into.

Tim did what any normal person would do in this situation- he screamed. And began to thrash his limbs around to get away from the offensive appendages. 

Several things happened at once. One: Jon began to scream and thrash from his inexplicable place at the bottom of the bed in response to Tim’s screaming and thrashing. Two: Tim’s knee made contact with what was either Jon’s face or groin, judging by the sound he made. Three: Tim was thrown off the bed with a surprising amount of force and was currently tangled in his sheets, incapable of getting up.

“What the _fuck,_ Jon?” he shrieked, blinking away the shock. Jon’s head popped out from under the covers, hair mussed and nose bleeding prodigiously onto Tim’s bed.

“You _assaulted_ me with your knee.” Jon sputtered nasally as he clutched at his face, using Tim’s blanket to stifle the bleeding.

“ _You_ assaulted me with your feet!”

“I didn’t touch you, at all-”

“Stop- stop using my blanket! Christ, I’ll grab a napkin or something-” Tim tripped out of the bedroom, grabbing at a roll of paper towels and ripping some off to pass to Jon who snatched it out of his hand. They both took a moment to glare at each other- Tim in last night’s clothes with a sheet still wrapped around his ankle and Jon tucked into the corner of the bed, prickly and bleeding- before Tim broke, starting a laugh that soon turned uproarious as Jon chuckled along.

“Seriously though, what the fuck were you doing at the other end of the bed?”

“You snore! Your face was millimeters from mine!” Jon sniffled into his paper towel.

“Not that badly! You’ve never complained before.”

“Do you remember eating an entire plate of onion rings last night?” Jon asked pointedly. “And does it feel like you brushed your teeth?”

Tim paused for a moment in consideration; he had, in fact, ordered a plate of onion rings for the table and subsequently demolished them by himself. And no, he did not brush his teeth upon returning home.

“Okay, valid.”

When Jon walked in on Monday, Sasha gasped at the bruises that littered his face. Before she could ask Tim slung an arm around his shoulder and winked.

“Bar fight. You should see the other guy!”


	2. High Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon requested 'an incredibly loud and painful high-five' for Martin and Tim.
> 
> Martin attempts to get on his boss's good side but is quickly thwarted by Tim.

“Bringing the boss tea, I see!”

Martin jumps but manages to steady the mugs before a drop hits the floor. “ _Jesus,_ Tim, don’t scare me like that!” He sets them down on his desk, giving himself a moment to calm his racing heart. 

Jon does not like him. Ever since the infamous ‘dog incident,’ as Tim had dubbed it, Jon had snapped at him and swiftly exited any room Martin entered. But Martin was determined to show his new boss his usefulness; and so, tea! He doesn’t know how Jon takes it, so he only adds a splash of milk and a few sprinkles of sugar. Inoffensive enough. He puts it in the mug Jon favors- it has a photo of an incredibly fat and fluffy cat on it. It seems custom-made, like someone printed the photo on it. Maybe it’s Jon’s cat? Either way, the man seems to exclusively use this cup.

“Wining and dining, good choice,” Tim winks, raising his hand for a high-five. Martin rolls his eyes but lifts his hand anyway, and what follows is the most painful minute of his job thus far. 

Tim smacks his hand with a resounding bang, the sound almost like a gunshot in the quiet room. Martin yelps in pain and flies backward, bumping painfully into the desk. Papers fall to the ground and he hears the tell-tale crack of ceramic shattering on the floor.

Tim is frozen in horror, hand still in the air. Martin slowly turns to see the pieces of Jon’s cat mug strewn on the floor in a puddle of steaming liquid. _Oh no-_

“What in god’s name is going on out here?” Jon chooses this moment to walk in, face scrunched in irritation. “It sounded like- _oh._ ” He looked at the remains of his cherished mug and for one terrible moment he seems incredibly and utterly heartbroken. Tim says nothing. Martin says nothing, hands hovering uselessly over the ground. Jon lets out a world-weary sigh, turns on his heel, and leaves the room.

“Whew,” Tim whistles lowly. “You’ve done it now, Martin. Better clean that up.”

“W-What?” Martin shrieks, spinning around to face Tim and waving a hand in his direction. “That was on you! Were you trying to _murder_ me? I think you broke my hand!” Said hand is a livid red and Martin is tempted to go get ice. “That was Jon’s favorite mug! Now he’s going to _hate_ me.”

“Think that ship has sailed, buddy,” Tim watches as Martin gets to his knees, gingerly picking up the pieces and gently placing them on his desk. “Just throw it out, Martin. We can get him a new ugly-cat mug. It’s fine. You’re not going to be able to fix it.”

“Shut up, Tim,” Martin snaps. “You’ve done enough already!”

“Alright, _alright._ Sorry!”

Martin does not see Jon for the rest of the day and does not attempt to bring him tea again. Instead, he darts out a bit early with his bag of mug and stops on the way home for hot glue. He’s going to fix this, goddamnit!

He works well into the night, clumsy hands shaking as he attempts to put together the broken pieces. He seems to have gotten most of the pieces, luckily, but the finished product is decidedly unusable and incredibly lopsided. Martin sighs- at least the picture of the cat was on a mostly-unbroken piece. He watches it dry.

“Sorry, little guy,” Martin pokes at the picture, chin in his hand. “Er, big guy.”

The cat, unsurprisingly, doesn’t answer back. 

* * *

  
  


“Um- g-good morning, Jon!” Martin tries for a sunny smile, hands behind his back. Jon sits at his desk, thoroughly unimpressed. “How are you?”

“What do you want, Martin,” Jon replies, clearly tired and irritable. “I’m a bit busy this morning.”

“O-Of course, I just wanted to- here!” He almost closes his eyes as he shoves the frankenstein’d mug into Jon’s hands. The bright pink ribbon he tied to the handle makes it look a little more presentable, although it’s a bit crushed. “I’m sorry I broke it. But, well- it’s together now!”

Jon stares down at the mug in his hands, face unreadable. He slowly blinks, then raises his eyes to meet Martin’s in a fixed stare.

“What am I supposed to do with this...” he gestures down at the mug in his hands carefully as not to break it. “Thing? It’s useless.”

Martin’s heart sinks. “I know, b-but maybe you want to use it as a...keepsake, or something? A decoration, maybe?” Jon continues to stare at him blankly and Martin’s afraid he just made things much worse. 

“Please leave.” 

Martin hears the sound of something hitting the bottom of the trash can as he leaves.

* * *

“Martin, you’re the _cutest,_ ” Tim gushes the next day, completely ignorant of the man’s misery. Jon has said nothing to him, coming out only to throw more files on his desk, covered in corrections. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbles back, not in the mood.

“Have you seen Jon’s desk? Right next to his sad little cactus?” Tim places his chin on his shoulder. “Go on. He’s at the library- won’t be back for a bit.”

Martin sighs and pushes his chair back, making Tim stumble backwards. “Fine, whatever.”

He reaches the office and finds Jon’s sad little cactus. And next to it, the haphazardly-glued mug. Attached is the bright-pink ribbon, re-tied and uncrushed.

Martin smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! A few more in the pipework, including some fun little halloween ones. Let me know if you liked.
> 
> Until next time!


	3. Goodbye/Give Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin says goodbye, but Jon is persistent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So these were for angst prompts number 17/31 which were “I think this might actually be goodbye” and “Don’t give up on me now” for Jon/Martin. I’ve combined them, which I hope you don’t mind. Thanks for the prompts, and I hope you like!

Martin stands in the doorway of Jon’s office, knowing he won’t be found by anyone. Jon Knows too much these days, but Martin knows things too- knows how to hide, knows how to find his blind spots. He’s used to going unnoticed. There’s a coldness that’s settled in his chest that is familiar and comfortable. He knows this means nothing good.

Jon’s asleep at his desk, a fitful doze that’s also familiar but can’t be too comfortable. He shrugs out of his cardigan and places it gently around Jon’s shoulders, watching as the man almost instantly settles, his sharp points softening. Just a week ago this would have sent a pang through his chest, but those feelings are lost to him now. He knows that this is the last time he’ll see him. Martin will never see those eyes open again, not where he’s going. But that’s the price, isn’t it? The price for saving them all. If that was even possible. _I have to try._

“I think this might actually be goodbye, Jon,” he says softly, knowing the man won’t wake up either way. Martin’s voice is nothing but an echo in an empty room. He allows himself one last touch, tucking a strand of silvery hair behind Jon’s ear. He doesn’t stir. “Let’s hope it’s all worth it.”

He doesn’t look back as he leaves the room. He feels nothing at all.

* * *

  
  


Jon hears his master’s call, a sonorous beckoning at the back of his mind that he cannot help but heed. He’s alight with purpose and need- for Martin, for the center of this maze, the solution to this mystery.

He finds his answer. The Panopticon, in all of its unholy glory. It’s beautiful, an inescapable gaze that Jon could watch and watch and never tire of. Elias is there. Jonah is there, crooning in his ear. He could drown in worship. He could die here and be happy. Jonah knows this. But Jon also knows he has somewhere to be. His motivation is for Martin. Jonah’s is far beyond him, even now.

There is a comfortable and familiar weight around his shoulders. He’s absolutely swallowed by Martin’s cardigan, almost comically so. It smells like tea and late nights and an odd, cold scent that he doesn’t like. Martin used to place it around his shoulders after the Prentiss incident when he spent many a long night in the office, plagued by nightmares. After his kidnappings Martin got bolder, wrapping him up while he was still conscious though Jon was too dazed by pain and stress to ever notice.

He remembers now though.

He will find Martin. He has that power now. If he stops too long to think on what that means he won’t have the strength to carry on. He’s a monster. He knows this. Basira knows this. Martin surely knows this. Will he still want him, ruined as he is? Has the Lonely swallowed him whole? Will Jon recover him only to be rejected by the person he cares for the most in this world? It doesn’t matter. As long as Martin’s okay, he’ll deal with whatever follows.

“Don’t give up on me now,” he pleads as he stumbles into the fog, Jonah’s laughter behind him. He feels that he has made the right choice and also a terrible mistake. 

But Martin was worth whatever comes after.

When it does come, he’ll think of everything he should have done differently, every mistake corrected and rewritten. But every time he does this, he never changes one thing: he always goes after Martin. Even if it ends the world. He does not tell Martin this, for fear of being seen as the monster he is. But Martin knows. And unspoken is the promise that Martin too would’ve damned the world for him.

They play house until they can hide no longer. They carve out their small piece of paradise amidst all of the suffering and fear in this world. 

It is a terrible and all-consuming love. But it is comfortable and familiar, and it is theirs alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know if you enjoyed.
> 
> Until next time!


	4. Haunted House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Prompt: person a and person b go through a haunted house together - person a loves all things spooky and person b is terrified" for Tim and Martin.

“You’re going to _love_ this.”

“I’ve already told you I absolutely will not, but okay.”

Martin doesn’t know why he lets himself get in these situations. Always eager to please, always has to say ‘yes.’ But Tim was begging and of course Martin couldn’t say no to those eyes.

Besides, Sasha outright refused and Jon locked himself in his office as soon as the question was posed. So that left Martin- good ol’ agreeable Martin.

Never _mind_ that he hated jump scares, that he couldn’t sit through any horror movie without screaming or fleeing the room. He was in the wrong line of work, honestly. He’d think of quitting but he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving any of them behind. _You’re doing this for love,_ Martin reminded himself rather dramatically. _For Tim._

“This is supposed to be the scariest haunted house in the Greater London area. You have no idea how lucky we are.” Tim was rubbing his hands together gleefully; his excitement was adorable and Martin tried to focus on that instead of his mounting anxiety during their hour-long wait. 

“I’m going to close my eyes the entire time, Tim.” he reminded the man. “You know I hate this type of thing.” They were fast approaching the front of the line- too fast, in Martin’s opinion.

Tim threw an arm around his shoulder and gave him a messy kiss on the cheek. “And I greatly appreciate your sacrifice. You truly love me, unlike the others.” The others being Jon and Sasha, who were currently waiting in the beer garden with the apple cider donuts Martin had been promised as a reward. “Really taking one for the team, Blackwood,” Sasha had remarked with a cheeky grin. “Good luck!”

A bored teenager took their tickets, gesturing them forward with a lazy hand. “Please remember not to touch the props or the actors. Move at a steady pace through the house. Have a spooktacular time.” The monotone strangely comforted Martin; perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

How wrong he was.

They were greeted on entrance by a chainsaw-wielding zombie; Martin let out an ear-shattering shriek while Tim cackled maniacally. Things did not get much better from there.

He was nauseated from the amount of fake blood in the “doctor’s” office. The spiders that intermittently dropped from the ceiling tested even his love for the arachnid. A particularly worm-y display left them both a bit rattled. But Tim kept a hand around his arm and that made everything slightly better. 

They were almost to the end; Martin could see the exit in sight. He abandoned all of his earlier caution and started to drag Tim towards the light, eager to leave this hellish nightmare. Before he could reach the end, however, a figure stepped directly into his path and raised a gleaming, silver knife in the air.

Martin would like to think he acted on instinct. He let out a guttural yell and his hand unconsciously formed a fist before he remembered the one rule of the house- don’t touch the actors. Martin was nothing if not polite.

So his body automatically turned and hit the next closest thing, which happened to be Tim’s face. His nose, to be precise. And then there was yelling from all sides; Tim in pain, Martin in effusive apologies, and the actor himself in shock (and a bit of laughter).

“I am so, _so_ sorry Tim!” Martin was ushering them out to Sasha and Jon while Tim pressed a towel to his nose. The actor was very accommodating, helping them to the back to their ‘first aid station.’ “It happens more often than you think,” he said. “Though usually it’s to us.” Tim groaned in response.

“It’s fine,” he replied in a nasally voice. “Honestly, I’m kind of proud. You have a vicious right hook.” Unsurprisingly, it didn’t make Martin feel any better.

“What happened to you?” Sasha jumped up from the table upon seeing them and began to fuss over Tim. “C’mere, sit down.”

“Are you alright, Martin?” Jon inquired anxiously, burrowing into his side and handing him a cup of hot cider that he took gratefully. “You look upset. Was it very scary?”

“Oi! I’m the victim here!” Tim replied in mock outrage. “And Martin’s the one who did it!” He winced as Sasha poked at his nose.

“Wha- really?” Jon replied, turning to look at Martin with an impressed stare. For some reason his face was turning a bit red-it wasn’t that cold, but Martin drew him closer all the same. 

“I said I was sorry! You’re the one who forced me to go in there, I didn’t mean to-”

“Wow, Martin! You got him good.” Tim gasped at Sasha’s words. “Oh hush, you’ll heal just fine. Doesn’t look broken.”

“Sadistic, the lot of you. Stop fucking smiling, Jon!”

“I’m not!” Jon replied, smiling.

They went home shortly afterwards, Tim snoring away in the backseat with his head on Sasha’s shoulder. 

“He’ll be fine,” Jon assured him from the passenger seat. “You know he wouldn’t put up half as much fuss if he were actually hurt.” He gave Martin a glance from the corner of his eyes. “You can really handle yourself, though.” The words were mumbled and embarrassed.

“Yeah,” Martin replied with a smirk. “Reckon I can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of Halloween fun. Can't resist a season one OG Archives gang, honestly. Hope you liked!


	5. Channeling Spirits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim finds a Ouija board and the spirits want Jon and Martin to kiss.

“I’m not playing.”

Tim groaned, draping himself dramatically across Jon’s lap. “It’s research, boss! They dropped off the Ouija board, shouldn’t we try it out?” He was shoved on the cold ground not seconds after this statement.

Two people had come into the Archives and written their statements; a dirty, rather dilapidated Ouija board was dropped off along with them. Jon had skimmed the stories and was apt to shove them in the ‘later’ pile had Tim not latched on to the toy and forced everyone to gather in Document Storage. Sasha had procured two bottles of wine from across the street and Martin had supplied some takeaway and here they were, wasting everyone’s time but most importantly, Jon’s.

“We shouldn’t be drinking wine down here-”

“We did it on your birthday with your _actual_ boss, Jon,” Sasha said, lazily waving her glass of wine in the air. “I’m sure it’s fine. Using this board on the other hand...I dunno, Tim. You know I used to work in Artefact Storage, what if it’s bad news?”

“Well, according to those girls the worst thing that happened was the lights went out, so I’m not expecting much,” Tim put a hand on his hip. “Still, we should do our due diligence- right, boss?”

Jon cursed the day he ever said that. “Fine, if you must,” he sighed. “But I won’t be joining you.”

“I beg to differ!” Tim grabbed his hands and forced them onto the planchette to join them. “Martin, Sasha!” The other two covered their hands with his and Jon caved under the tremendous amount of actual, physical pressure. “Fine, fine! Just stop pressing down so hard.” Martin’s hands were oddly sweaty on his, but he was a welcome warmth by his side in the chill of the room.

“Alright, so according to Google we should ask simple questions to warm the ghost up,” Tim leveled a glare as Jon scoffed. “Take this seriously, Jon! Or you could invite in “dangerous spirits,” oh no!” Sasha snickered and Jon rolled his eyes. ”Now, I’ll go first- easy one. Is there anyone in the room with us?” It didn’t move, aside from the small jerks caused by their hands. Tim cleared his throat. “I said, IS THERE ANYONE HERE WITH US?” The planchette shot across the board to “yes” and Martin let out a high-pitched shriek.

“Calm down, Martin,” Jon winced at the noise. “It’s clearly Tim.”

“Tim, don’t cheat!” Sasha slammed an elbow into his side while Tim vehemently shook his head. 

“That wasn’t me, I swear!” Jon and Sasha stared. “Alright, alright, that was me. Let’s try again.” He closed his eyes in mock seriousness, lifting his chin up. “Oh Great Spirits of Beyond,” he intoned. “Look into my mind and reveal my innermost thoughts.” The planchette jerked minutely and began to slowly make its way across the board before landing on an “F” followed by a “U.”

“Christ, Tim,” Sasha muttered, though a smile gave away her amusement. It continued in a similar vein, clearly maneuvered by Tim as it spelled out the rest of the answer.

_F U C K E L I A S B O U C H A R D_

“Oh for God’s sake!” Jon ripped his hands off the planchette as Tim cackled in glee, Sasha soon following. Even Martin had a smile on his face- it was nice to see, he hadn’t smiled much after the Prentiss incident. Not that Jon paid attention to that sort of thing, of course. He let out a reluctant smile as well but jumped at the sudden sound of shattering glass.

Sasha had leaned a bit too far to the side and knocked over her half-full glass of wine, sending it puddling at her and Tim’s feet. “Fuck!” she groaned, jumping to her feet and trying to avoid the rest of the spill. “Look what you’ve done!”

“Me? I didn’t do anything!” Tim gave his most affronted face. “It was _definitely_ the spirits. Told you, this can be a dangerous game…”

The two bickered amicably as they got up, leaving the room to grab cleaning supplies. Jon stared awkwardly at the planchette, which Martin’s fingers were still on. “I think we’re clearly done,” Jon told him, watching as Martin snatched his hands back and laughed nervously.

“Right, right.” Was Martin scared? They all knew it was Tim, it wasn’t like an actual ghost could-

“Jon, did you see that?”

He blinked. “Erm, what?”

“It moved!” Jon looked back down at the board and didn’t see anything amiss.

“I think you’re mistaken,” Jon said slowly, narrowing his eyes in concern. “There’s nothing here that would-” Martin let out another yelp and pointed at the board.

It was moving. Slowly, very slowly, but yes- moving. “Martin, if this is your idea of a joke-”

“It’s not, I swear!” Martin gazed wide-eyed at the board, hands shaking. “What’s- what’s it saying?”

Jon’s nerves grew as he watched the planchette land on a letter, pause, and move on. _K-I-S-S._

His face began to heat. _Excuse me?_

“It’s-it’s nonsense,” he stuttered, scooching back from the board as it began to spell the word again. “It’s just- the ground must be uneven or something-”

“Jon,” Martin rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.” It wasn’t very nice having his favorite phrase parroted back at him. “The ground’s fine, it’s the board- it’s actually working! What’s it saying?” He leaned in further, interest overriding his fear. “Should we call Tim and Sasha? I think it’s saying- _oh_.” Martin’s face turned blood-red, and he began to stammer. “Um, actually-”

“What’s going on, folks?” Tim and Sasha entered to find the two men staring at the board, which had now gone completely still. “Manage to summon anyone while we were gone?”

“Um, no-” Martin watched as Jon suddenly grabbed the board, turning it over and inspecting it closely. 

“Are there magnets in this?” Jon demanded, standing up and thrusting the board in Tim’s face. “Is this some sort of prank?” He waved it around, just narrowly missing his nose as Tim whacked it out of the way.

“What are you on about?” Sasha took the board from his hands, flipping it over and inspecting it as well. “It’s just a regular old board. Nothing fancy. Did something happen?” Jon and Martin shared a glance, an unspoken question in their eyes. “Well?”

They shook their heads in unison, voices overlapping. “Nope!” “Not at all, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Well, alright then!”

* * *

Sasha and Tim finished off two more bottles by themselves, eventually saying their goodbyes and promising to head home even though everyone had heard them making plans to go to a bar. Martin began to clear the floor of trash, gearing himself up for another lonely night in the archives. He heard the clearing of a throat behind him and he turned around to see Jon waiting in the doorway. His face was flushed, bringing to mind the events of earlier. 

“Did you- did you need something?” Martin asked tentatively. 

He watched as Jon’s face went through several emotions, all of them negative- irritation, anxiety, anger- until suddenly, a strange determination made itself known. He marched up to Martin and leaned up on his toes to give him one small, but rather aggressive kiss on the cheek. 

“There!” he said, as if he’d just done Martin an incredible favor (which in many ways, he had). His face was an adorable shade of red as he refused to meet Martin’s eyes and backed away slowly. Martin, for his part, was frozen in place.

“For the ghost.” Jon said slowly, like he was explaining something to a child. _How does he manage to be so condescending_ and _ridiculous at the same time?_ Martin put a hand to his cheek, his brain still short-circuiting. _Did Jonathan Sims just kiss me?_

“I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts,” was what came out of his mouth. And of course, Jon’s face subsequently scrunched up in anger, his hands balling into small fists.

“Shut up!” He spat, turning on his heel and slamming the door. Martin still didn’t move, even as the footsteps moved further and further away and sounds indicated Jon left the building. He stood in place for a few minutes after that as well. A smile slowly made its way onto his face.

“Thanks, I guess?” he called out to the room, just in case any stray spirits lingered. Predictably, nothing answered him. 

Martin never had such a great time cleaning as he did that night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For an anon prompt on tumblr! I love a good Ouija board, both in real life and in fic! Let me know if you liked.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @voiceless-terror for asks/prompts. Thanks for reading!!

**Author's Note:**

> I have a few more queued up. If I'm posting too much, let me know, ha! But I have a lot of TMA feelings and I write too much for my own good. Hope you liked, anon!
> 
> You can find me @voiceless-terror on tumblr where asks/prompts are open! Feel free to drop me a line and I'll see what I can do <3


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